


A Lesson in Tongues

by kittimau



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Cowgirl Position, Cuddling & Snuggling, Denial of Feelings, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Fluff, Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Humor, Idiots in Love, Language Barrier, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Reading, Resolved Sexual Tension, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Smut, Teasing, Tenderness, Vaginal Sex, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Varric ships it, little bit of teacher/student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittimau/pseuds/kittimau
Summary: They've been at this dance for months, and Lilitu is ready to move things forward. With a little advice in the art of seduction, she drops her lure and hopes Hawke will take the bait.He does.
Relationships: Hawke/Lavellan, Male Hawke/Female Inquisitor, Male Hawke/Female Lavellan, Male Hawke/Lavellan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17





	A Lesson in Tongues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TightAssets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TightAssets/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, my friend! Thank you for trusting me with your babies, I hope I've done them justice.
> 
> Includes art by the lovely, talented Schoute! Find her on [Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schoute/pseuds/Schoute/works) or [Tumblr](https://schoute.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Many thanks to my alpha [lostinfantasies38](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostinfantasies38/pseuds/Lostinfantasies38/works)! I was stuck & low on mojo for a while, but due to her support and talent this came together right on time.

Heat shimmers on the stone, the silver gleam of winding parapets like wings against the sun. She lifts her face to them, breathes in the scent of crisp air and walks slowly toward the steps nestled behind the Herald’s Rest.

There’s a faint chill prickling along her skin despite the protective magic surrounding this place blocking it from the frigid mountains beyond and the beating rays above. Not a bad feeling, however. _Grounding_. She revels in it, and takes another deep breath as her bare foot connects with smooth, well-worn granite.

She requires that grounding today, if her plan’s to come to fruition. Lilitu is on a mission. Alas, the first step is not just the one her foot makes now but finding her target. That done, it’s simply a matter of letting the other gears click into place.

Her eyes flit to the garden below and the courtyard yonder, peeled for the shemlen warrior. She’s spent damn near half the afternoon scouring every nook and cranny of the stronghold. Well over a foot taller than herself, yet he’s managed to evade her again. It chafes under her pale skin.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she mutters, running a nimble hand through her hair. Tugs from the roots in frustration. The mild pinpricks of pain along her scalp, too, anchor her. She keeps moving, one foot in front of the other.

* * *

“I’m tellin’ you, Hawke. The Herald likes you.”

Keaton sighs. “I fear you may be right, Serah.”

For too long he’s made excuses. “Busy training” or “helping with the construction”. Though he’d agreed to assist in her lessons in the Common tongue, he stealthily avoids her whenever possible. It’s a delicate game of cat and mouse and one that’s quickly wearing thin. Nothing short of torture. Still, he finds himself again hiding in the derelict room atop the tavern drinking Mackay’s straight from the bottle to quell his nerves.

“So what’s the hold-up? I’ve never known you to be nervous about bedding a pretty mage before.”

He shoots the dwarf a chiding look. It’s been years, but his best and oldest friend never fails to tease him over that blasted affair. He trusted Anders, _loved_ him, even. And look where it got him… where it got them both. The mere thought of it leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth, one he chases with another swig of single malt. It’s molasses down his throat, smooth and sweet, pleasantly numbing. Exactly what he needs right now. Keeps him present.

His eyes track the lazy swirls of dusty sunlight as he speaks. “This is different. Lilitu is different. I won’t lie and say I don’t wish to bed her. Andraste preserve me, I _really_ do. But she’s - she’s been through much, and I don’t know how to be… whatever she might need.”

“Well, shit. You won’t know what she wants, _or needs_ , until ya suck it up and ask her.”

He grimaces. Scrubs a calloused palm over the thick, black stripe of hair atop his crown. “Each time we’re alone and the opportunity presents itself, suddenly I’m the one at a loss for words. All I can think to do is wind that beautiful hair around my fist and shove my co-”

“Okay, okay. Too much information.” Varric chuckles and snatches the whiskey from his outstretched hand. “Look, you’re thinking too much. Love is about intuition, not reason. Don’t fight it. Go with your gut, live in the damn moment.”

“Love!” he starts.

The dwarf gives a full-body eye roll and takes a long pull from the bottle. “Hawke, I know you better than _anyone_. There’s no mistaking those puppy eyes you follow her around with. And you wouldn’t care so much about her feelings if you didn’t - well - _care_.”

“When did you get so fucking wise?” he says dryly, nudging the dwarf’s shoulder with his own.

“Baby I was born wise. It’s built into my bones.”

Keaton snorts. He leans back in the rickety wooden chair, ankles crossed and thick arms folded behind his head. His eyes slide shut as he draws a breath of the room’s stale, closed air to gather his thoughts. He’s woefully out of practice with this sort of thing. Not getting any younger, either, and weariness has already begun settling in the lines around his eyes and faint salt and peppering of his beard. Barely in his thirties, but life in Thedas does that to a person. Especially one who’s endured as much as he.

Nonetheless, his roguish friend is correct. A too-long neglected part of him desires more than her company, the occasional tumble in the hay. He longs for companionship, connection. Someone to return to at the end of a difficult battle who’ll gleefully rough-fuck through the remaining adrenaline. Collapse in a tangle of limbs after and pet him to sleep. Drowsy mornings waking with them in his arms rather than cold, empty sheets. Quiet evenings before the fire, sharing the minutiae of their day. Or saying nothing at all, simply enjoying each other’s presence. Seeking comfort and contentment in the combing of fingers through hair and sweet, gentle kisses.

_He wants it all._

“Haaaaawke!”

Lilitu bursts through the door, howling. Keaton’s eyes fly open.

Startled, his chair tips back. He flails weightlessly for what feels like minutes before crashing unceremoniously to the floor, the back of his head hitting the stone wall behind him with a dull _thunk_. Bright starbursts dance behind his lids for a moment as pain lances through his skull and down his spine.

He blinks.

When he looks up again, she’s hovering in the doorway with both hands on full hips. The burgeoning sunset filters in behind her, basking her in a halo of pink-orange light. Strong legs wrapped in standard Dalish leggings, feet bare to the dusty floor. Long ivory hair braided over a shoulder, the opposite side of her head shaved. The twining ink of her vallaslin curves from the dip in her tunic, chases her throat, wraps over her lip, cheekbones, forehead. The beautiful elf, the one he’s unwittingly come to adore, long for in the dead of night when he takes himself in hand stands there, crimson eyes glowering, and all he can think is _even angry, she’s beautiful._

Yeah, fine. He’s a goner.

She snaps, “Ar ema eaem melenal!”

Varric laughs. “You okay?” he says, crouched beside him on the floor.

“I’m fine,” Keaton grumbles sheepishly. Drawing his knees up, he rubs at his sore skull, knowing full well there’ll be a lump there later. “ _Common_ , Kitten.”

“I have been waiting! Why did you not come?” she asks, tongue folding awkwardly around the syllables.

“I’m sorry. I must have - uh - lost track of time.”

She scoffs. Arms cross over her chest. “Because you are drunk.”

“Not nearly enough - ow!” Varric’s just pinched the meat of his side. He scowls. “What was that for?”

“Stop arguing with the lady and go!”

Lurching to his feet with a grunt, he shakes his aching head. There’s no arguing with the Inquisitor, not when she’s in a feisty mood like this one, and Varric’s clearly no help. He bows with dramatic flourish. “Lead the way.”

* * *

“Get comfortable. I will be back,” she murmurs, handing him a book.

Still relishing the pleasant whiskey-haze, he flippantly hums acknowledgment and saunters to the banister overlooking the stairs. Leaning a hip against it, he flips the novel to look at its cover as she steals around the corner to her private washroom. One of Varric’s novels, he learned along the way, borrowed from Seeker Pentaghast. They are to practice reading in Lilitu’s lavish quarters.

Alone.

With _smutty literature._

Keaton drags a sword-roughened hand through his beard and plops unceremoniously onto the chaise to his left. He can practically _hear_ Varric’s muffled snickering in his ears. Bastard’s probably sitting in the great hall at this very moment, delightedly gossiping. Or worse, penning this down for his next novel. Andraste’s ass, what has he gotten himself into?

Apparently torture, that’s what. Because the moment that thought flits across his mind, Lilitu slinks into the room. Braid undone, hair loose and gleaming, wearing a sheer, lacy white negligee. It drapes over each supple curve like an open taunt and stops well above her knees. And if the thin material’s any clue, there’s nothing beneath.

 _Maker save me,_ he thinks, adjusting himself as subtly as possible (which is to say not at fucking all). _Should have brought that Mackay’s._

The elf all but sashays across the room. She lights several candles and uncorks a bottle of wine. Fills two glasses left on the corner desk. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s been in this situation, least of all with her. Yet with any other, it’s markedly intentional. Routine seduction. With Lilitu, it’s more a brick in the stonework of her being. She carries herself with easy, skillful grace. Has almost naive notions of shame in that for her, they simply don’t exist. The body’s the body, and she’s never shy about hers, wholly untainted by human social mores dictated within rigid class structures and scrupulous religious guilt.

It’s one of the things that draws him to her so intently, her unselfconscious mindset borne not of carelessness or libertine values but of innocence. And that makes this all the more difficult, because Hawke is her absolute opposite. Drinking, gambling, stealing, fighting, fucking. They’re in his nature, and he knows no other way to be (it astounds him to this day how Varric’s managed to spin him so heroically in his book; the very idea of anyone putting Hawke on a pedestal is at once gut-wrenching and hilarious).

The moment her eyes turn on him, he’s pinned. Tendrils of excitement tingle along his nerves as she takes her place next to him and hands him the deep red vintage. She’s too bloody lovely. Her hair shimmers in the hazy blended light of flickering candles and moonbeams, downright ethereal. Eyes unlike any he’s ever seen, piercing and intense, honest. As though she can see his very soul. Never shies away from what she finds, curious and unafraid.

 _Fuck_ , he’s turning into Varric. That or this book is warping his brain.

They’re two pages in now and unable to resist, Hawke’s attention flicks from the mindless jumble of lewd, extravagant prose to the elf’s wide, upturned eyes. They brazenly hold his as her tongue glides over a plush lower lip, capturing the lingering bittersweet wine. The arousal that’s been humming under his skin throughout this ordeal flares in volume. He shifts again. Swallows with an audible click. Yep, this is torture, alright.

The corners of her mouth lift in a smile somewhere between hopeful and obliging. She points to a line on the page he’s just turned to. “And what does this one say?”

“Ah, um… ‘her chest heaved with obvious desire, threatening to burst the laces straining across her full bosom’...” _Maker’s breath, really, Varric?_ He glances at Lilitu, eyes dropping unbidden to _her_ breasts. Large, plump. Absolutely perfect. The lacy fabric does literally nothing to hide the pinkness of her nipples and they’ve pebbled under the rapidly cooling evening wind that drifts through the open balcony. Keaton groans internally. Looks away. “Is there _anything_ else we can read?”

Lilitu cocks her head delicately to the side. “Why?” she asks, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. “Is something wrong with this book?”

She leans closer, practically over his lap. Her bright scent wafts over him as she curiously peruses the book. Tangy, fresh, sweet. He wonders mildly if her skin tastes of the same citrusy notes.

“I just…” He pauses to clear his throat. Wracks his brain for an excuse that won’t give away the true reason for his discomfort. The attempt fails. “Nevermind.”

A slender hand caresses his thigh. “Keep going.”

“Uh - ahem…” Straightening his back, he sets his glass on a small table beside the chaise and mumbles, “Alright.” The heat of her palm seeps through the fabric of his breeches. His cock twitches with interest and he’s utterly lost his place on the page.

“ _Down, boy_ ,” he whispers idly to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing. Er, where were we?” Her leg presses against his when she points. “Okay… ‘she gasped with unbridled excitement when his… engorged member… was freed from its confines’.”

Keaton groans aloud this time. To his immense surprise, Lilitu _giggles_. Apparently, she’s enjoying either the story or his tormented rendition of it. Possibly both. Glancing up, he catches her watching his lips. He licks them. She drags her lower one between her teeth. _Fuck_.

“Entertained, Kitten?” He didn’t intend for his voice to come through so low and husky, but oh well.

Lilitu hums, ignoring the question. “I want to read now.”

She stands suddenly. Sets her cup aside, tugs the book from his hands, and sits on his lap. Holding the book up so he can see, she squirms a bit, making herself comfortable. He bites back a moan as her ass slides against him. Her perfectly round, firm ass. A bead of sweat drips down his back, quickly absorbed by his tunic when he leans into the chaise. He steels himself, resists the urge to rut against the friction.

“Here we are. ‘She led his hand to the wet…’ _Iovru_ , what is this word?”

Ah, the pet name. No matter how many times he’s pestered, she refuses to tell him the meaning. He was less than amused at first, but it’s grown on him. After all, he has one for her, it’s only fair. He peers over her slim shoulder and follows her finger to the line, blanching. “Nectar.”

Lilitu grins and he can’t help feeling that he’s in trouble.

“‘She led his hand to the wet _nectar_ between her thighs.’” Her head lolls on his shoulder, placing her lips conveniently close to Keaton’s ear. “‘She was _hot_ and _ready_ for him.’”

Time seemingly stands still, silence falling over the room save for his pulse thundering beneath his ribs. She looks up through her long lashes, pupils wide. Lips parted, cheeks flushed.

“Maker, Lilitu,” he murmurs. And with that, his self-control shatters.

* * *

Lilitu’s gasp is lost in the press of Keaton’s lips.

He yanks the book from her grasp and throws it. The leather-bound volume bounces off the wall somewhere behind her, crashing to the floor with a resounding _thud_.

 _Finally_ , she thinks, heart singing. His teeth gently score the flesh of her lower lip and she whines in the back of her throat at the feel of it. She’s wanted this, wanted him, for so long and had begun to doubt the sentiment would ever be returned. Knowing it is? Pure, unadulterated bliss. He pulls away, forehead resting against hers. Cups her chin in his hand.

“Is this okay?” he softly asks.

All she can do is nod and rise to meet his lips again. Side-saddled over his thick, taut thighs, she loses herself in the depths of his mouth. Maps every crevice and flavor; the sharp lines of his teeth, the soft wet of his palate, the clean salt of him beneath layers of whiskey and wine. Lets her fingers card through his hair, his broad hands smoothing over her flank and up her back, holding her close. She melts because _Gods_ , nothing comes close to being encircled by Keaton’s strong arms. Built for war, for terrible things, but around her, in this moment, they’re nothing if not _safe_. _Home_. There aren’t words for this feeling, none that she knows to express her joy in these simple touches, yet still she wants _more_.

He groans into her mouth. “What do you want, Kitten?”

“You,” she purrs, “I want _you_ , Iovru.”

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, kissing and nipping at the flesh. A palm inches up her thighs, dipping under the rising hemline of her gown. “Like this?”

“Yes, please…”

He grins into her skin. Fingers probe along her outer lips, already glistening with arousal. “Life imitates art, apparently.” Keaton chuckles. “My Kitten is, indeed, _hot and ready_.”

She whines and playfully slaps at his chest. “Stop teasing.”

“Sweetheart…” he rumbles. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“Wha-” A thick finger dips between her slick folds, punching the rest of the word into a low moan. She bucks into his hand. “I don’t… know what… that means!”

He chuckles. “Tell me you haven’t been teasing me this whole time.” Still caressing her walls, he grinds the heel of his palm against her clit.

“Vin, vin, vin…”

“ _Common_ ,” he growls, not unkindly. It sends a shiver of want down her spine.

“Yes!”

When she meets his eyes, their usual pools of ocean blue are razor-thin around the dark pupils. Again, he dives for her neck, lips sealing around her pulse like he wants to taste it. They slowly move down her jaw, eager tongue between pursuing the vallaslin decorating her skin and every bite is accompanied by the laving against abused flesh, soothing and sweet. The hand not between her thighs worries her nipples in turns, pinching and pulling them to tender points that send bolts of pleasure straight to her cunt. Keaton’s own arousal is clear in the hard press of him at her ass. She slides against the cloth barrier, rocking with every thrust of his finger. Rides out her pleasure on his hand.

“Fuck, you’re insatiable. You want it so bad, don’t you, Kitten?”

All she can do is whine and hang on.

By the time he inserts a second finger, she’s clutching the lapels of his tunic, running her own hands through the hair on his chest, face pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulder to muffle her mewling cries of Elvish pleas and curses. He no longer corrects her lapse of tongue, instead praises her. Tells her _she’s being so good for him, she’s so beautiful, so tight_ , that he _loves her like this_. Utterly wanton and completely at his mercy. She has to agree, she loves it too, but it’s both _too much_ and _not enough_.

She chants her mother language, _more, more, more,_ into his waiting mouth. Her hips roll between the play of fingers and the hard line of his cock against her ass, chasing the climax she’s craved at his hands for so long. Lilitu can’t remember the last time she’s fallen asleep without her final thoughts consumed by Hawke; his large, taut muscles, the rough hair abrading her sensitive skin, sensuous lips driving her wild. She tries to twist in his arms, hands fluttering and clinging wherever they land when suddenly she _shatters_. Wails her release to the Gods, trembling and spasming around Keaton’s fingers.

Lilitu slumps, sated, against his broad chest. Her gown slides down one shoulder, reminding her that Keaton still has _far_ too many layers on. That thought is perhaps the only thing that stirs her from the haze of blissful contentment. She twists in his lap, frowning, and plucks petulantly at his tunic.

“Take this off.”

He raises the fingers still covered with her slick to his lips. Sucks them down, one by one, and hums his pleasure at her taste. Voice low, he rumbles, “Is that an order, Inquisitor?”

Her cunt clenches, aching to be filled again. But first, she wants every inch of him bared. She’s seen her fair share of his upper half from watching him train in the yard, or even through the wide V of his open tunics (something he and Varric seem to share an affinity for). Nonetheless, it’s a sight she’ll never tire of. Tall, broad, handsome, and _covered_ in dense, black hair. He’s so gorgeous it makes her fingers positively _itch_ with the need to touch, stroke, cling.

Keaton preens under the attention and flashes a roguish smirk. “Let’s go to bed, little mage. I’ll show you some magic of my own.” He scoops an arm under her knees, prompting an unattractive squeal that makes him laugh. With two long strides, he lays her down and stands back. The glint in his eyes as he looks at her wavers between a child during a Satinalia party and Iron Bull the day they slew the Fereldan Frostback in the Hinterlands. A woman could get addicted to being prized in such a way. She beams back at him, elegantly sliding the gown from her shoulders.

Kneeling prettily at the edge of the bed, her curious fingers find their way back to him as though bereft from those few seconds of lost contact. She’s waited long enough to have this man. With that in mind, she tilts her head, beckoning. He obliges, though he has to bend near in half, so she rises to meet him. Kisses him softly at first. Then traces the seam of his lips with her tongue, idle hands following the hair that narrows over his abdomen.

She whispers into his mouth, “My turn. Get up here.”

He arches a black eyebrow. "Love it when you get bossy," he quips. But he obliges that as well, shifting past her and scooting to prop himself against the pillows.

She crawls to him, eyes on _her_ prize, and situates herself between Keaton's spread legs. Tugs the laces on his breeches free. Dips her hand beneath the fabric to pull out his flushed, heavy cock, already slick at the tip. It bounces against his lower belly in time with his breath. Built just like Keaton himself - long and _thick_. Delicious. She wraps her fingers around the shaft, the tips barely meeting around his girth.

He groans out her name, rutting eagerly into her fist. “Lilitu…”

She likes that. _Very_ much. Pure instinct drives her forward; she knows the perfect way to draw many more pleasing sounds from that lovely, deep voice. She’ll prove to him her tongue is capable of far more than just language. Within moments, she's divested him of his breeches. Slowly, holding his gaze, she leans in and swipes the flat of her tongue against the swollen tip. He tastes of the salty, musky tang of sweat and precome. The groan that erupts from his lips forces her thighs together. She continues, radiant with pride, pressing soft kisses and licking every inch, flicking over the head with every pass.

He tangles his fingers in her tresses, soothingly scratches at her scalp. Arching into his touch, she _purrs_ , “Show me. Show me what you like, Iovru.” Even in the dim light she can see the flare of his nostrils, the darkening of his irises.

Grip tightening, he guides her forward. “Open, Kitten.”

Her lips part around the head, eyes briefly fluttering shut as she feels him glide across her tongue. Skin like silk, hard as stone, he lays heavy in her mouth. She moans. Relishes the deep groan he gives like a reward. When she does look up, he’s watching her slow slide up and down with half-lidded eyes, using her mouth and hand to give him the same pleasure he’d granted her.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, free hand tenderly tracing her cheek. “So good for me. So”-she hums again-“oh, _fuck._ ”

He tugs her off and hauls her up his body, roughly claiming her lips with his. Growls at the taste of himself on her tongue. Whether frantic and desperate, or lazy and sweet, Lilitu could spend the rest of her life with his lips against hers. Learning what makes him tick, how to take him apart and put him back together, letting him do the same to her. She straddles his thighs, rocks against him. Circles her hips in a teasing rhythm.

“Ready, Kitten?” he murmurs, lips pressed to the bolt of her jaw.

“Mmhmm.” Lilitu rises on her knees as he holds himself steady with one hand, the other on her hip. Slowly lowers herself till he's fully sheathed within her heat. “ _Pala_...” she moans.

“So tight, so good. You’re beautiful like this, my sweet.”

She moans at the praise, lost in a haze of lust, fullness, affection. Rolls experimentally, sighing at the feeling. With him inside her, surrounding her, she’s _whole_. Keaton’s fingers sink into the soft flesh of her thighs, keeping her stable as she fucks herself on his cock.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hisses. “Like that. Just like that.” Then he begins to thrust, hitting a spot deep within her. The shock of pleasure tears a keening sound from her throat. He smirks beneath her, repeating the action so she chokes on her next cry. Despite the cocky tilt of his lips, Keaton’s eyes blaze with affection. Lilitu wants to curl up in that heated gaze, make a home for herself there, nestle within it forever.

“Keaton...” she moans. Her voice drives them both frantically onward, each thrust of his cock met with her clenching muscles and bucking hips. “More!”

He gives it to her, tipping her forward with a bruising grip to claim her mouth as his again. His fingers sink into the firm, supple flesh of her ass, leaving marks she knows she’ll treasure instead of heal, the angle now hitting that spot inside her on every thrust and the perfect pressure of his pelvis against her clit taking her higher, higher, till she almost thinks she’s flying and-

“Come for me,” he growls, tongue flicking along the point of her ear. “Come, baby.”

She tumbles over the edge, crying to the ceiling. Calling on her gods as he fucks her through her climax, waves of pleasure vibrating from her cunt to the tips of her fingers and toes. He follows quickly with a sharp, guttural cry, flooding her with warmth. She collapses into him, breathless, body laced with a fine sheen of sweat. Cradling her to his chest, he hums into her delicate neck, tracing his nose down the lines of ink.

“Kitten…” he murmurs, “let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

She nods sleepily. Laying her gently back on the bed, he rises and retrieves a fresh rag from the washroom. After gently cleaning them both, he pulls the covers back and she slips beneath them with a contented sigh, holding out her hand in invitation. Chuckling, he threads their fingers together and crawls in beside her.

* * *

Lilitu immediately closes the distance between them, wrapping around him like a vine with a contented hum. Nuzzling the soft hair coating his chest, she mumbles, soft and drowsy, “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

Keaton’s heart stutters and his mouth dries. He knows after years of listening to Merrill occasionally ramble in Elven that “vhenan” means “my heart” and is a term of endearment for lovers. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what the rest of the statement translates to, either. _Damn that dwarf._ Varric is right - _again._ Though, it seems he isn’t alone in his feelings and that’s all the impetus Keaton needs to dive off the cliff with her. There isn’t another woman in Thedas who’s this capable, vibrant, sensual, beautiful. None this _captivating_. Lilitu is fire and raw stealth, innocence and grace, soft yet deadly. Capable of setting a man alight with the power of the Veil at her fingertips or by boiling his blood with _want_ beneath long lashes across a crowded room.

Maker, he’s never felt so _lost_ and yet _found_.

Running a hand through her hair, he whispers, “I love you, too, Lilitu.”

“Mmm… I am glad to hear it, vhenan. Now shush and go to sleep.”

His quiet laugh echoes through the room and Keaton feels her perfect lips curve in a tender smile. Pressing a kiss to her crown, he burrows into the downy pillows and allows the exhaustion tugging at his body and mind to lull him into the Fade. Perhaps when they wake, they can attempt reading that book again…

Or reenact the good bits and worry about Common lessons later.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus art by the birthday gal herself:
> 
> Find more from her on [Tumblr](https://tightassets.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you'd like to receive updates for my works, please [subscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittimau/profile)! 
> 
> Have questions or comments? Want to chat about DA or writing? Find me on [Tumblr](https://kittimau.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kittimau1)! 😊❤


End file.
